Drunken Homecoming
by spitfire00
Summary: After a skirmish up north, Edward and his fellow soldiers are shipped home after being injured. Winry waits for him at the station, eager to bring him home.


She meets them at the train station at three AM, wrapped in her overcoat and scarves, trying not to shiver out of her bones while the wind threatens to knock out every radio tower in central. She hasn't slept in days, not since the General called her. Her entire body aches, and she wants nothing more than to lie down in her warm bed back at their apartment under the mound of blankets she and Edward had acquired over the years. But she's already tried sleeping, and while she can sleep alright without Edward by her side at this point, she cannot sleep without Edward by her side when she knows he's injured and on his way home.

The train whistle pulls her from her thoughts and makes her shuffle closer to the platform, bunching her shoulders closer to her neck in an effort to protect her stinging ears. The steam that pours from the engine washes over the meager crowd and she takes a moment to relish in it, but everyone is pressing closer to the train's doors and instinct has her clustering in with them, eager to lay eyes on Ed in the same way that the families pressing against her are to see their wounded loved ones.

The skirmish at Briggs was short and the papers said they were lucky, but the death of twenty three men and many more injured does not account as luck in Winry's book, and it never will. When the military fills a train with casualties to be sent home, then the entire country had to feel it. The terrorists would stop eventually, but not before everyone else realizes their cause.

She understands why Ed had chosen to stay in the military. Mustang wasn't willing to scrap the State Alchemist program, and what better person to redesign it than Edward Elric, the Alchemist of the People? But even though his new duties placed him in an office more often than in the battlefield, Edward was still too powerful a player to leave back home in Central when the country threatened to dive into war. He had accepted that fact, and so had she, but seeing a metaphorical calamity in the future was far different from shivering on the train platform, trying to catch a glimpse of any familiar face in her husband's unit.

She understands. She understands why Ed can't settle down, quit the work, and stay home. She understands why he needs to travel, to research, to explore and inquire and analyze. It was apart of his very being, ingrained in his soul. He was a wanderer the same why she was a mechanic. He was meant to roam the same way that she was meant to design.

But sometimes she wishes that he would give it all up and just stay where she could keep an eye on him.

She spies General Mustang before anyone else, and the look on his face makes uneasiness squirm in her belly. He stands tall as ever, but his normal impeccable appearance is marred by blood and soot, and there's a large bruise creeping up one of his cheekbones. He looks very much like a man who has just walked off a battlefield, hair rumpled and poster stiff. He doesn't see her at first, too busy ordering some MP to assist with the soldiers' duffles.

She shoulders her way to the front of the crowd, and when she's finally close enough for him to see her, she catches sight of the exhaustion in his eyes. She knew there were many layers to this man, but never had she seen him look so tired.

Nevertheless, he straightens at the sight of her, and calls to someone over his shoulder. By the time she makes it to his side, she can see a flash of golden hair moving about inside of the train, but she can't reach him yet through the throng of soldiers unloading in her way. The General lays a gentle hand on her arm. "He's coming. He's running a bit slower than normal, give him a moment." She wants to snap at him, but she doesn't because she's freezing and she missed her husband so horribly bad and she knew that Roy Mustang was just as protective of Ed as she was. It was easy to forget that the General wasn't as heartless as he wished them all to believe, and while Ed has no problem remembering, she often has to remind herself that the man was just as human as the rest of them, and cared just as deeply.

"Did you call Alphonse?" He asks her, and she doesn't hear him at first over the cry of a woman rushing forward to grab at her weary son.

"Yeah, but he's still in Aquira. I told him I would have Ed call." The General seemed satisfied with this answer and turned back to the doorway of the train where the stream of soldiers was finally thinning.

And finally there he was, hunched over as he slowly stepped off the platform and onto the cement with the assistance of Major Havoc, one arm slung around the man's shoulders while the other clutched at his ribs. He was seemingly involved in a lively conversation with his friend, grinning about something while he dug automail fingertips into his own skin. His cheeks are red with the cold and his eyes bright with mirth and fever, his fiery hair slipping free of it's band to fall around his shoulders messily. Both men were huddled down in their jackets to fend off the cold that attacked the moment they disembarked, but otherwise seemed indifferent to the frigid temperatures.

She recognizes his attitude immediately, her temper flaring its mean head as she stomps forward, heart wanting to reach out for Ed but anger wanting to hunt down whatever idiot doctor had decided to give his injured soldiers alcohol.

Ed beats her to it, eyes lighting on fire when he sees her, and his pained smile makes the red tinting her vision slip away. "Winry!" To his drunken credit, the Major keeps ahold of Ed even as he lurches towards his wife, smacking a kiss under her eye even though it was clear he was aiming for her lips, automail arm reaching for her. She catches him barely, arms gingerly snaking around a hip and under his automail, careful not to aggravate any of the injuries that Hawkeye had called to inform her that Ed had sustained. Only once she has a grip on him does Havoc let go, toppling away and nearly crashing against the side of the train without the counterweight. Apparently they were leaning on each other more than either of them realized.

Mustang manages to snatch the Major's collar and right him, setting him back on his feet. She notices only then that Jean's jacket had been concealing a sling, and she wonders how the hell Mustang manages to get anything done with a crew so damn injury prone.

"They ran out of painkillers, and the trainride was too bumpy for anyone with broken bones. They wanted to make everyone wait for the next shipment, but no one would agree, and someone brought out booze instead." Mustang shrugged, and she noticed that he had not released the Major. The remaining strands of her fury had been mellowed out with the weight of Ed's increasingly limp body and the cold that was starting to wrap around her lungs. At least whatever idiot doctor was in charge had at least _tried_ to keep a handle on things... She knew full well that soldiers were impossibly stubborn sometimes.

"This way was _way_ more fun anyway." Edward slurs next to her, his breath stinking of alcohol and his balance faltering with each passing second. "Found out Falman's—" He paused for a moment, face scrunching up in pain as he hiccupped before pushing on, " _not a good—_ not a good— singer." She wonders briefly how the idiot's still standing when he almost slips to the ground, saved only by her quick reflexes and strength from working in the shop for years. Even so, the half drop jars him and knocks the breath from his lungs, and any color the alcohol had painted on his cheeks drained away rapidly, leaving his skin gray. The booze had done a good job of keeping him steady, but the pain of riding a crowded bumpy train with a slipped disc and fractured ribs had left him pale and shaky, even if the whiskey had soothed his mind and temper.

"Hate to break it to you Ed, but you're not a good singer when drunk _either._ " Havoc teased, eyes alight with mirth even as he hunched over himself.

Winry could feel Ed's automail dropping temperature even as they stood, and she shook her head and gave him a little tug. "Let's get you home Ed."

He looked at her with bleary eyes before turning back to the Major and General. "Gotta go." He threw up an arm in what she guessed was probably supposed to be a salute, but he nearly hits himself in the face instead.

"Can you handle him?" Roy asks, and she finds admiration in the fact that even when his men were wasted to escape the pain, the General had stayed sober, probably to watch over them all and keep them from passing out in their own vomit.

"Yeah. Yeah I got him." She looked at where Ed was gazing over the train station, golden eyes hazy but trying to be alert as he took in his surroundings. It was something she had seen him do constantly over the years, conditioned into him after living such a threatening lifestyle for so long. "Ed— Let's go home."

Roy tells her to call if she needs anything and they bid each other goodbye. Ed was stiff and his movements lurchy, but he was trying his best to cooperate with her as she slowly moved him along, slipping out of the crowd and towards the exit. His feet shuffled along unevenly, catching with each step, and she suspected that he had probably damaged his automail at some point.

"I missed you— Win." He slurs, his jovial demeanor still lingering around him even as he panted through the pain. "'Twas cold up there." She hates that he's in pain, and that some idiot doctor had let him travel instead of putting a foot down, but she can't stay angry with him heavy and warm in her arms. She perfered him home with her anyway, where he was in her care and safe, not up North in some nameless outpost shivering in a tent while he tried to recover from battle.

"It's cold down here too." She tells him, spotting the private who had driven her to the station on the street. He had the sense to keep the car warm apparently, and she found herself relieved that she wouldn't have to track down a taxi.

"Mmm. It's like a different... different kind of cold up— up there. Dangerous-ous cold." She tightens her grip on him as they come to a set of stairs that led to the street level.

"Careful. One at a time." He hums at her as he eyed the stairs warily, and eventually they started the slow trek down. By the time they make it into the car he's shaking violently, from the cold or pain she isn't sure. She doesn't like the wan tint of his skin or how his eyes flutter around without focusing on anything.

"Okay?" she asks him as she lowers him onto the leather seat and slips in after him, closing the door to block out the cold. The heat of the car blasts her in the face and makes Ed groan for a moment before he nods to her question.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Shivering— shivering makes it... worse." She reaches across him and buckles him in, leaving the strap loose. Of course shivering made it worse. His ribs were in bad shape according to Hawkeye, and each muscle tensing to keep him warm was probably agony.

"Well the apartment is warm. I turned up the heat." She tells him as the car sets off, and she keeps on eye on his breathing as they ride in silence towards the downtown. She wonders briefly if she should take him to the hospital. He'd been cleared to travel (barely), but he was still in bad shape, and in obvious pain.

But she had painkillers at the apartment for days when his automail bit into his skin and made his bones ache, and she was fairly certain that the only thing the hospital would do would put him in bed and knock him out, which she could do perfectly well herself— without a three hour ER wait.

So they go home.

She's never been more thankful for their building's elevator in her entire life. Ed was fading fast as the alcohol left his system, swaying where he stood and slumped over to protect his aching ribs.

She strips him down out of his ruined uniform, examining each piece to see if it could be salvaged. His jacket was stained with mud and splotches of blood, torn in three places and missing it's rank insignia. "Is this yours?" She asks, pointing at the blood. He squints at it as though he hadn't seen it before and shakes his head.

"Don't think so." She nods and sets it in the bath to soak. If nothing else she could make it into cleaning rags. When she comes back he's glaring at his t-shirt like he wishes it would just catch on fire. "I should have worn my button-up."

"You have enough t-shirts. I'll just cut it off. I don't want you raising your arms above your head anyway."

Once he's free she gets to see his condition in its full glory under the glaring lights of their bedroom overhead. His entire torso is wrapped in dark black bruise that creep around his ribs and stomach, up over his collarbone and back down his shoulder blades. The edges are tinted purple and red, with the worst spots swelling up. "God Ed..."

"Does it look bad? It feels bad." He mumbles, words slurring together. She can see the inflamed areas where his ribs have to be damaged, and she finds herself cursing the military's physician all over again.

"You shouldn't have been allowed to travel. You've busted your ribs before, but this is..."

"Internal bleeding bad?"

She sighs, moving behind him on the bed to see his back. "A little, here and there. It'll probably drain on it's own, but they should have kept you in the hospital to monitor it."

"Good thing my wife is a doctor." He grins up at her, eyes dopy. She shakes her head at him, hair flying about.

"I'm not an emergency medicine doctor Ed."

"Close enough."

"Either way, we're going to have to be really careful. Very little activity until these are more stable. I'm not going to let you puncture a lung because you don't know how to take it easy. How's your back?"

"Mm. Achy. Leg's numb. That's a little freaky."

"It's normal though with a herniated disc. It have some anti-inflammatories that should help, but it won't heal unless you rest the muscles."

"Alright, Alright. I hear you. No strenuous activity. Rest and Relaxation. A little vacation sounds nice anyway." She wishes he would stop grinning at her, because she wants to be angry. Angry that someone couldn't do their fucking job and take care of her husband properly, angry that he'd been injured, angry that he was still in danger, and angry that his job made her so angry.

But he's beaten and bruised and drunk and he still smells like frozen dirt and she can't hang on to her anger no matter how hard she tries. She's missed this man for weeks and now he was home, hurt and injured and in pain that she had the power to mend.

So she bites her tongue and kisses his forehead firmly, ignoring his mouth because he still reeks of alcohol and she knows for a fact that sometimes the military didn't always supply it's soldiers with toothbrushes. "I'm glad you're home Ed."

.

She makes him shower sitting down to keep him from passing out, and while it results in her getting almost as wet as him, she does manage to get him clean and bandaged without too much issue. She dries his hair as much as she can but the cold is still lingering in his ports and she can feel the beginnings of fever warming his skin. He complains when she dresses him, wrapping him in warm flannel before throwing blankets over him too. "You can't sleep naked Ed, you'll get sick."

"Mm 'll not." He mumbles even as he tugs the blanket further up.

"Uh huh. Will you be able sleep? I have painkillers."

His hand sneaks out and latches onto her sleeve, tugging insistently. "Mm. Sure. Come 'ere."

"Ed—" she needs to clean— they left the bathroom a mess, soiled bandages littered about and towels on the floor. She should get her things to look at his automail and she should prepare meds for him to take—

He tugs again, fever hazed eyes gazing up at her. "Please?"

"Ugh. Okay, fine." His face splits into a grin and and slips out of her clothes and into a nightgown, crawling beneath the covers with him and curling up against his side. She can feel the fever emitting off of him and the firm texture of his bandages through his flannel, but he's solid against her and he wraps an arm around her waist and she can't help but feel joy that he's home with her. She curls on her side so she can tuck her face in the crook of his neck, careful to make sure she didn't aggravate any injuries. She'd have to wake up in a few hours to get some meds into him and make him call Alphonse, but for now she could enjoy the feeling of him alive against her.


End file.
